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Title: A Child's Garden of Verses
Author: Robert Louis Stevenson
Illustrator: Jessie Willcox Smith
Release date: May 26, 2008 [eBook #25609]
Most recently updated: August 8, 2019
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Juliet Sutherland Christine D. and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
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(Published in 1919; Illustrations in Color by Maria L. Kirk)
A
Child's
Garden
of Verses
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
Illustrated by
Jessie Willcox Smith
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, New York
Copyright, 1905, By CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
Printed in the United States of America
All rights reserved. No part of this book
may be reproduced in any form without the
permission of Charles Scribner's Sons
DD-3.64[H]
Reset March 1955
For the long nights you lay awake And watched for my unworthy sake: For your most comfortable hand That led me through the uneven land: For all the story-books you read: For all the pains you comforted:
For all you pitied, all you bore, In sad and happy days of yore:— My second Mother, my first Wife, The angel of my infant life— From the sick child, now well and old, Take, nurse, the little book you hold! [Pg viii]
And grant it, Heaven, that all who read May find as dear a nurse at need, And every child who lists my rhyme, In the bright, fireside, nursery clime, May hear it in as kind a voice As made my childish days rejoice!
Three of us afloat in the meadow by the swing, Three of us aboard in the basket on the lea. Winds are in the air, they are blowing in the spring, And waves are on the meadow like the waves there are at sea.
Where shall we adventure, to-day that we're afloat, Wary of the weather and steering by a star? Shall it be to Africa, a-steering of the boat, To Providence, or Babylon, or off to Malabar?
Hi! but here's a squadron a-rowing on the sea— Cattle on the meadow a-charging with a roar! Quick, and we'll escape them, they're as mad as they can be, The wicket is the harbour and the garden is the shore.
Up into the cherry tree Who should climb but little me? I held the trunk with both my hands And looked abroad on foreign lands.
I saw the next door garden lie, Adorned with flowers, before my eye, And many pleasant places more That I had never seen before.
I saw the dimpling river pass And be the sky's blue looking-glass; The dusty roads go up and down With people tramping in to town.
If I could find a higher tree Farther and farther I should see, To where the grown-up river slips Into the sea among the ships,
To where the roads on either hand Lead onward into fairy land, Where all the children dine at five, And all the playthings come alive.
WINDY NIGHTS
Whenever the moon and stars are set, Whenever the wind is high, All night long in the dark and wet, A man goes riding by. Late in the night when the fires are out, Why does he gallop and gallop about?
Whenever the trees are crying aloud, And ships are tossed at sea, By, on the highway, low and loud, By at the gallop goes he. By at the gallop he goes, and then By he comes back at the gallop again.
I should like to rise and go Where the golden apples grow;— Where below another sky Parrot islands anchored lie, And, watched by cockatoos and goats, Lonely Crusoes building boats;— Where in sunshine reaching out Eastern cities, miles about, Are with mosque and minaret Among sandy gardens set, And the rich goods from near and far Hang for sale in the bazaar;— Where the Great Wall round China goes, And on one side the desert blows, And with bell and voice and drum, Cities on the other hum;— Where are forests, hot as fire, Wide as England, tall as a spire, Full of apes and cocoa-nuts And the negro hunters' huts;— Where the knotty crocodile Lies and blinks in the Nile, And the red flamingo flies Hunting fish before his eyes;— Where in jungles, near and far, Man-devouring tigers are, Lying close and giving ear Lest the hunt be drawing near,
Or a comer-by be seen Swinging in a palanquin;— Where among the desert sands Some deserted city stands, All its children, sweep and prince, Grown to manhood ages since, Not a foot in street or house, Not a stir of child or mouse, And when kindly falls the night, In all the town no spark of light. There I'll come when I'm a man With a camel caravan; Light a fire in the gloom Of some dusty dining-room; See the pictures on the walls, Heroes, fights, and festivals; And in a corner find the toys Of the old Egyptian boys.
We built a ship upon the stairs All made of the back-bedroom chairs, And filled it full of sofa pillows To go a-sailing on the billows.
We took a saw and several nails, And water in the nursery pails; And Tom said, "Let us also take An apple and a slice of cake;"— Which was enough for Tom and me To go a-sailing on, till tea.
We sailed along for days and days And had the very best of plays; But Tom fell out and hurt his knee, So there was no one left but me.
I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me, And what can be the use of him is more than I can see. He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head; And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.
The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow— Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow; For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball, And he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him at all.
He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play, And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way. He stays so close beside me, he's a coward you can see; I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!
One morning, very early, before the sun was up, I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup; But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head, Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.
The lights from the parlour and kitchen shone out Through the blinds and the windows and bars; And high overhead and all moving about, There were thousands of millions of stars. There ne'er were such thousands of leaves on a tree, Nor of people in church or the Park, As the crowds of the stars that looked down upon me, And that glittered and winked in the dark.
The Dog, and the Plough, and the Hunter, and all, And the star of the sailor, and Mars, These shone in the sky, and the pail by the wall Would be half full of water and stars.
They saw me at last, and they chased me with cries, And they soon had me packed into bed; But the glory kept shining and bright in my eyes, And the stars going round in my head.
I saw you toss the kites on high And blow the birds about the sky; And all around I heard you pass, Like ladies' skirts across the grass— O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song!
I saw the different things you did, But always you yourself you hid. I felt you push, I heard you call, I could not see yourself at all— O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song!
O you that are so strong and cold, O blower, are you young or old? Are you a beast of field and tree, Or just a stronger child than me? O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song!
Over the borders, a sin without pardon, Breaking the branches and crawling below, Out through the breach in the wall of the garden, Down by the banks of the river, we go.
Here is the mill with the humming of thunder, Here is the weir with the wonder of foam, Here is the sluice with the race running under— Marvellous places, though handy to home!
Sounds of the village grow stiller and stiller, Stiller the note of the birds on the hill; Dusty and dim are the eyes of the miller, Deaf are his ears with the moil of the mill.
Years may go by, and the wheel in the river Wheel as it wheels for us, children, to-day, Wheel and keep roaring and foaming for ever Long after all of the boys are away.
Home from the Indies and home from the ocean, Heroes and soldiers we all shall come home; Still we shall find the old mill wheel in motion, Turning and churning that river to foam. [Pg 31]
You with the bean that I gave when we quarrelled, I with your marble of Saturday last, Honoured and old and all gaily apparelled, Here we shall meet and remember the past.
Little Indian, Sioux or Crow, Little frosty Eskimo, Little Turk or Japanee, Oh! don't you wish that you were me?
You have seen the scarlet trees And the lions over seas; You have eaten ostrich eggs, And turned the turtles off their legs.
Such a life is very fine, But it's not so nice as mine: You must often, as you trod, Have wearied not to be abroad.
You have curious things to eat, I am fed on proper meat; You must dwell beyond the foam, But I am safe and live at home. Little Indian, Sioux or Crow, Little frosty Eskimo, Little Turk or Japanee, Oh! don't you wish that you were me?
My tea is nearly ready and the sun has left the sky. It's time to take the window to see Leerie going by; For every night at teatime and before you take your seat, With lantern and with ladder he comes posting up the street.
Now Tom would be a driver and Maria go to sea, And my papa's a banker and as rich as he can be; But I, when I am stronger and can choose what I'm to do, O Leerie, I'll go round at night and light the lamps with you!
For we are very lucky, with a lamp before the door, And Leerie stops to light it as he lights so many more; And oh! before you hurry by with ladder and with light; O Leerie, see a little child and nod to him tonight!
The moon has a face like the clock in the hall; She shines on thieves on the garden wall, On streets and field and harbour quays, And birdies asleep in the forks of the trees.
The squalling cat and the squeaking mouse, The howling dog by the door of the house, The bat that lies in bed at noon, All love to be out by the light of the moon.
But all of the things that belong to the day Cuddle to sleep to be out of her way; And flowers and children close their eyes Till up in the morning the sun shall arise.
Come up here, O dusty feet! Here is fairy bread to eat. Here in my retiring room, Children, you may dine On the golden smell of broom And the shade of pine; And when you have eaten well, Fairy stories hear and tell.
Faster than fairies, faster than witches, Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches; And charging along like troops in a battle All through the meadows the horses and cattle: All of the sights of the hill and the plain Fly as thick as driving rain; And ever again, in the wink of an eye, Painted stations whistle by. Here is a child who clambers and scrambles, All by himself and gathering brambles; Here is a tramp who stands and gazes; And there is the green for stringing the daisies Here is a cart run away in the road Lumping along with man and load; And here is a mill, and there is a river: Each a glimpse and gone for ever!
Farewell, O brother, sister, sire! O pleasant party round the fire! The songs you sing, the tales you tell, Till far to-morrow, fare ye well!
2. Shadow March
All round the house is the jet-black night; It stares through the window-pane; It crawls in the corners, hiding from the light, And it moves with the moving flame.
Now my little heart goes a-beating like a drum, With the breath of the Bogie in my hair; And all round the candle the crooked shadows come, And go marching along up the stair. [Pg 53]
The shadow of the balusters, the shadow of the lamp, The shadow of the child that goes to bed— All the wicked shadows coming, tramp, tramp, tramp, With the black night overhead.
3. In Port
Last, to the chamber where I lie My fearful footsteps patter nigh, And come from out the cold and gloom Into my warm and cheerful room. [Pg 54]
There, safe arrived, we turn about To keep the coming shadows out, And close the happy door at last On all the perils that we past.
Then, when mamma goes by to bed, She shall come in with tip-toe tread, And see me lying warm and fast And in the Land of Nod at last.
When children are playing alone on the green, In comes the playmate that never was seen. When children are happy and lonely and good, The Friend of the Children comes out of the wood.
Nobody heard him and nobody saw, His is a picture you never could draw, But he's sure to be present, abroad or at home, When children are happy and playing alone.
He lies in the laurels, he runs on the grass, He sings when you tinkle the musical glass; Whene'er you are happy and cannot tell why, The Friend of the Children is sure to be by! [Pg 59]
He loves to be little, he hates to be big, 'Tis he that inhabits the caves that you dig; 'Tis he when you play with your soldiers of tin That sides with the Frenchmen and never can win.
'Tis he, when at night you go off to your bed, Bids you go to your sleep and not trouble your head; For wherever they're lying, in cupboard or shelf, 'Tis he will take care of your playthings himself!
O it's I that am the captain of a tidy little ship, Of a ship that goes a-sailing on the pond; And my ship it keeps a-turning all around and all about; But when I'm a little older, I shall find the secret out How to send my vessel sailing on beyond.
For I mean to grow as little as the dolly at the helm, And the dolly I intend to come alive; And with him beside to help me, it's a-sailing I shall go, It's a-sailing on the water, when the jolly breezes blow And the vessel goes a divie-divie-dive. [Pg 61]
O it's then you'll see me sailing through the rushes and the reeds, And you'll hear the water singing at the prow; For beside the dolly sailor, I'm to voyage and explore, To land upon the island where no dolly was before, And to fire the penny cannon in the bow.
Down by a shining water well I found a very little dell, No higher than my head. The heather and the gorse about In summer bloom were coming out, Some yellow and some red. [Pg 63]
I called the little pool a sea; The little hills were big to me; For I am very small. I made a boat, I made a town, I searched the caverns up and down, And named them one and all.
And all about was mine, I said, The little sparrows overhead, The little minnows too. This was the world and I was king; For me the bees came by to sing, For me the swallows flew.
I played there were no deeper seas, Nor any wider plains than these, Nor other kings than me. At last I heard my mother call Out from the house at evenfall, To call me home to tea.
And I must rise and leave my dell, And leave my dimpled water well, And leave my heather blooms. Alas! and as my home I neared, How very big my nurse appeared. How great and cool the rooms!
These nuts, that I keep in the back of the nest Where all my lead soldiers are lying at rest, Were gathered in autumn by nursie and me In a wood with a well by the side of the sea.
This whistle we made (and how clearly it sounds!) By the side of a field at the end of the grounds. Of a branch of a plane, with a knife of my own, It was nursie who made it, and nursie alone!
The stone, with the white and the yellow and grey, We discovered I cannot tell how far away; And I carried it back although weary and cold, For though father denies it, I'm sure it is gold. [Pg 67]
But of all my treasures the last is the king, For there's very few children possess such a thing; And that is a chisel, both handle and blade, Which a man who was really a carpenter made.
What are you able to build with your blocks? Castles and palaces, temples and docks. Rain may keep raining, and others go roam, But I can be happy and building at home.
Let the sofa be mountains, the carpet be sea, There I'll establish a city for me: A kirk and a mill and a palace beside, And a harbour as well where my vessels may ride.
Great is the palace with pillar and wall, A sort of a tower on the top of it all, And steps coming down in an orderly way To where my toy vessels lie safe in the bay. [Pg 69]
This one is sailing and that one is moored: Hark to the song of the sailors on board! And see, on the steps of my palace, the kings Coming and going with presents and things!
Now I have done with it, down let it go! All in a moment the town is laid low. Block upon block lying scattered and free, What is there left of my town by the sea?
Yet as I saw it, I see it again, The kirk and the palace, the ships and the men, And as long as I live and where'er I may be, I'll always remember my town by the sea.
When at home alone I sit, And am very tired of it, I have just to shut my eyes To go sailing through the skies— To go sailing far away To the pleasant Land of Play; To the fairy land afar Where the Little People are; Where the clover-tops are trees, And the rain-pools are the seas, And the leaves, like little ships, Sail about on tiny trips; And above the daisy tree Through the grasses, High o'erhead the Bumble Bee Hums and passes.
In that forest to and fro I can wander, I can go; See the spider and the fly, And the ants go marching by, Carrying parcels with their feet Down the green and grassy street. I can in the sorrel sit Where the ladybird alit. I can climb the jointed grass And on high See the greater swallows pass In the sky, And the round sun rolling by Heeding no such things as I.
Through that forest I can pass Till, as in a looking-glass, Humming fly and daisy tree And my tiny self I see, Painted very clear and neat On the rain-pool at my feet. Should a leaflet come to land Drifting near to where I stand, Straight I'll board that tiny boat Round the rain-pool sea to float. [Pg 75]
Little thoughtful creatures sit On the grassy coasts of it; Little things with lovely eyes See me sailing with surprise. Some are clad in armour green— (These have sure to battle been!)— Some are pied with ev'ry hue, Black and crimson, gold and blue; Some have wings and swift are gone;— But they all look kindly on.
When my eyes I once again Open, and see all things plain: High bare walls, great bare floor; Great big knobs on drawer and door; Great big people perched on chairs, Stitching tucks and mending tears, Each a hill that I could climb, And talking nonsense all the time— O dear me, That I could be A sailor on the rain-pool sea, A climber in the clover tree, And just come back, a sleepy-head, Late at night to go to bed.
The red room with the giant bed Where none but elders laid their head; The little room where you and I Did for awhile together lie And, simple suitor, I your hand In decent marriage did demand; The great day nursery, best of all, With pictures pasted on the wall And leaves upon the blind A pleasant room wherein to wake And hear the leafy garden shake And rustle in the wind— And pleasant there to lie in bed And see the pictures overhead— The wars about Sebastopol, The grinning guns along the wall, The daring escalade, The plunging ships, the bleating sheep, The happy children ankle-deep And laughing as they wade; All these are vanished clean away, And the old manse is changed to-day; It wears an altered face [Pg 101]
And shields a stranger race. The river, on from mill to mill, Flows past our childhood's garden still; But ah! we children never more Shall watch it from the water-door. Below the yew—it still is there— Our phantom voices haunt the air As we were still at play, And I can hear them call and say: "How far is it to Babylon?" [Pg 102]
Ah, far enough, my dear, Far, far enough from here— Yet you have farther gone! "Can I get there by candlelight?" So goes the old refrain. I do not know—perchance you might— But only, children, hear it right, Ah, never to return again! The eternal dawn, beyond a doubt, Shall break on hill and plain, And put all stars and candles out Ere we be young again. [Pg 103]
To you in distant India, these I send across the seas, Nor count it far across. For which of us forgets The Indian cabinets, The bones of antelope, the wings of albatross, The pied and painted birds and beans, The junks and bangles, beads and screens, The gods and sacred bells, And the loud-humming, twisting shells! The level of the parlour floor Was honest, homely, Scottish shore; But when we climbed upon a chair, Behold the gorgeous East was there! Be this a fable; and behold Me in the parlour as of old, And Minnie just above me set In the quaint Indian cabinet! Smiling and kind, you grace a shelf Too high for me to reach myself. Reach down a hand, my dear, and take These rhymes for old acquaintance' sake!
Some day soon this rhyming volume, if you learn with proper speed, Little Louis Sanchez, will be given you to read. Then shall you discover, that your name was printed down By the English printers, long before, in London town.
In the great and busy city where the East and West are met, All the little letters did the English printer set; While you thought of nothing, and were still too young to play, Foreign people thought of you in places far away.
Ay, and while you slept, a baby, over all the English lands Other little children took the volume in their hands; Other children questioned, in their homes across the seas: Who was little Louis, won't you tell us, mother, please?
Now that you have spelt your lesson, lay it down and go and play, Seeking shells and seaweed on the sands of Monterey, Watching all the mighty whalebones, lying buried by the breeze, Tiny sandpipers, and the huge Pacific seas.
And remember in your playing, as the sea-fog rolls to you, Long ere you could read it, how I told you what to do; And that while you thought of no one, nearly half the world away Some one thought of Louis on the beach of Monterey!
TO ANY READER
As from the house your mother sees You playing round the garden trees, So you may see, if you will look Through the windows of this book, Another child, far, far away, And in another garden, play. But do not think you can at all, By knocking on the window, call That child to hear you. He intent Is all on his play-business bent. He does not hear; he will not look, Nor yet be lured out of this book. For, long ago, the truth to say, He has grown up and gone away, And it is but a child of air That lingers in the garden there.
THE SCRIBNER ILLUSTRATED CLASSICS
THE ARABIAN NIGHTS
Edited by Kate Douglas Wiggin Illustrated by Maxfield Parrish
THE STORY OF ROLAND
by James Baldwin Illustrated by Peter Hurd
THE STORY OF SIEGFRIED
by James Baldwin Illustrated by Peter Hurd
DRUMS
by James Boyd Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth
A LITTLE PRINCESS
by Frances Hodgson Burnett Illustrated by Ethel Franklin Betts
THE DEERSLAYER
by James Fenimore Cooper Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth
THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS
by James Fenimore Cooper Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth
ROBIN HOOD
by Paul Creswick Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth
THE ENCHANTED BOOK
Edited by Alice Dalgliesh Illustrated by Concetta Cacciola
ROBINSON CRUSOE
by Daniel Defoe Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth
THE CHILDREN OF DICKENS
by Charles Dickens
Edited by Samuel McChord Crothers Illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith
HANS BRINKER
by Mary Mapes Dodge Illustrated by George W. Edwards
POEMS OF CHILDHOOD
by Eugene Field Illustrated by Maxfield Parrish
THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COME
by John Fox, Jr. Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth
GRIMM'S FAIRY TALES Illustrated by Elenore Abbott
LONE COWBOY
by Will James Illustrated by the author
SMOKY
by Will James Illustrated by the author
WESTWARD HO!
by Charles Kingsley Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth
THE BOY'S KING ARTHUR
by Sidney Lanier Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS
by Jane Porter Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth
THE YEARLING
by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth
QUENTIN DURWARD
by Sir Walter Scott Illustrated by C. B. Chambers
THE CHILDREN'S BIBLE
by Henry Sherman and Charles Kent Illustrated by various artists
HEIDI
by Johanna Spyri Illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith
A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES
by Robert Louis Stevenson Illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith
THE BLACK ARROW
by Robert Louis Stevenson Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth
DAVID BALFOUR
by Robert Louis Stevenson Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth
KIDNAPPED
by Robert Louis Stevenson Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth
TREASURE ISLAND
by Robert Louis Stevenson Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth
THE MYSTERIOUS ISLAND
by Jules Verne Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth
TWENTY THOUSAND LEAGUES UNDER THE SEA
by Jules Verne Illustrated by W. J. Aylward
Transcriber's Note
These last verses of HISTORICAL ASSOCIATIONS as found in some other
editions of this book were not printed in this edition. They don't
appear to be missing scans, as the page numbering remains sequential.
There, then, awhile in chains we lay, In wintry dungeons, far from day; But ris'n at length, with might and main, Our iron fetters burst in twain.
Then all the horns were blown in town; And to the ramparts clanging down, All the giants leaped to horse And charged behind us through the gorse.
On we rode, the others and I, Over the mountains blue, and by The Silver River, the sounding sea, And the robber woods of Tartary.
A thousand miles we galloped fast, And down the witches' lane we passed, And rode amain, with brandished sword, Up to the middle, through the ford.
Last we drew rein—a weary three— Upon the lawn, in time for tea, And from our steeds alighted down Before the gates of Babylon.
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Mary
Hans
Biddy
Fifine
BED IN SUMMER
FOREIGN LANDS
THE LAND OF COUNTERPANE
MY SHADOW
FOREIGN CHILDREN
THE HAYLOFT
NORTH-WEST PASSAGE
PICTURE-BOOKS IN WINTER
THE LITTLE LAND
THE FLOWERS
TO AUNTIE
